


He has no reason to apologise

by telekinesiskid



Series: Mornings are the hardest [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, OT3, Panic Attacks, Past Domestic Violence, freckled Adam is my jam now, troubled boyfriends helping out their troubled boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 06:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6273415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telekinesiskid/pseuds/telekinesiskid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finds Adam, balled up, in a corner and faced inward. His shoulders tremble and, close behind him, Ronan huddles with the lost face of someone who doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. His head shifts to look at Gansey and his eyes widen and crease all at once; his expression reads 'help'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He has no reason to apologise

**Author's Note:**

> here, have some more PTSD Boyfriends. you all deserved it ;)
> 
> as always, special thanks to [kiiouex](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kiiouex/pseuds/kiiouex) for beta'ing my stuff! she had a hard day and I really appreciate it :')

Very rarely, when it all gets too hard and too much, Gansey wonders why he bothers with either of them. Why does he put in the effort? When Ronan thinks he can find more solace at the bottom of a bottle in an empty room, when a trifling disagreement descends into a screaming match and ends with Adam slamming the door, because old habits die hard. _Why, why, why_ , his mind shouts.

But the answer is always there, as undeniable as gravity, lurking in the back of his mind, ready and waiting to return to him when the red haze inevitably fades. He loves them. _They_ love him. And, contrary to popular belief, he needs them just as much as they need him.

For all that Adam was the easiest to fall in love with, he is the hardest to love. Never in a million years would Gansey have dreamt he would ever end up with a boy like Adam Parrish, but not for the reason Adam Parrish himself would think; he’s an untouchable yet fragile thing, his pride as grandiose and expansive as a hot air balloon but massively vulnerable to even the barest of nicks. He is unknowable, he is a marvellous creature, and he is one of the best finds Gansey’s knack for uncovering mysteries has ever led him to. But the true miracle really, Gansey thinks, is that Adam could ever enter into a relationship with him and trust in him that they’re on equal footing. Adam belongs to Gansey now, but Gansey belongs to Adam, too. Ronan belongs to both of them, but they belong to Ronan, too.

But he’s a complicated thing, rife with contradictions, hot with internal conflict that threatens to boil over. He oscillates between wanting to be the centre of their universe and wanting to be out of it completely. When he opts to sit out in favour of homework, Ronan still pursues Gansey – hungry and entitled and impatient, almost selfish – and Adam watches on, bitterly upset, until he crawls over with a face written in defeat. He wants to be touched, he doesn’t want to be touched. He inserts himself between Gansey and Ronan when he’s not getting enough attention, he sits up and redresses when they’re too close. He wants to, he doesn’t want to, he wants to again, he doesn’t want to anymore. Sometimes Gansey feels that no matter how he tries and tries and tries to accommodate him, he can never seem to please him. He’s never satisfied. His needs are never met, simply because he never expresses them.

Gansey wonders if a sizeable amount of Adam’s discomfort comes from poor self-image. Ronan is far from abashed when he parades around Monmouth half-naked, not nearly as susceptible to men’s health magazines that kindly inform him he ought to be in better shape, that he ought to be rougher and tougher. But Ronan already seems to coincidentally meet the standard; Adam is fair, soft-edged, delicate, lean, self-consciously tall. And he hates his freckles. Gansey knows this at least because Adam takes every opportunity he can to marvel their mostly unblemished skin. His eyes linger – lusty and resentful – on Ronan the most; Ronan doesn’t have a single freckle on him.

It disheartens Gansey to think Adam doesn’t believe he’s beautiful. He wastes entire hours in bed with him, Ronan just a distant snore, as he persuades Adam to remove his shirt so that he can dot the constellation of brown stars across his back. He repeats the words – “you’re beautiful, Adam Parrish; you don’t know how beautiful you are” – until Adam accepts them or until they’ve lost all meaning.

 

Gansey wakes to the unmistakable sound of a sob.

It’s a jarring moment. Summer heat presses in through the factory windows, hot and sticky, and dust catches in the glorious yellow light that spills in, but Gansey feels cold with dread. He sits up; the book from last night topples off his chest and he rights his askew glasses before he finds Adam, balled up, in a corner and faced inward. His shoulders tremble and, close behind him, Ronan huddles with the lost face of someone who doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. His head shifts to look at Gansey and his eyes widen and crease all at once; his expression reads _help._

Gansey gets up. His bare feet pad slowly across the warm floorboards, until he’s in the cool shade, where Adam presses himself desperately further into. Gansey’s close enough now that he can hear it, what’s making Ronan look so haunted and out of his depth; between sobs Adam’s murmuring, either to himself or to them or to someone else entirely. _“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”_

Ronan rocks. He scrubs his face with one hand, agitated and nervous. His voice is low enough that only Gansey might hear: “I just woke up and he was like this.”

Adam doesn’t even seem able to register that they’re there. Gansey asks, voice feather-light, “How long?”

Ronan’s shoulders twitch into a shrug that is anything but cavalier. “I don’t know. Five, ten minutes? I don’t _know_ , Gansey, _just_ —” Ronan stops and forces himself to breathe deeply. When he gulps, it’s audible. “Can you just make him cut it out, please. I don’t know how to…”

Gansey nods. He wonders if it’s a miracle Ronan stayed this time, or if his discomfort was overshadowed by his petrification. “I’ll try.”

Ronan nods too, far too jittery, and they both look back to Adam in unison. Gansey sets his mouth; he has, regretfully, had plenty of experience with panic attacks, but not on this end of it. He knows all too well the crushing, damning feelings of hopelessness, of being lost inside himself and a public spectacle all at once, of wanting to be alive and dead and alive and dead. He remembers that so many people in his life learnt to tune him out, to wait it out, and he remembers that he wanted at least someone to have done a little more to help.

He tentatively puts a hand out but Ronan seizes it before it can land on Adam’s shoulder. “Don’t,” Ronan warns, low but sharp. “He won’t like it.”

Gansey feels stupid that it didn’t occur to him sooner. His mind is jumbled; his thoughts are distracted and disorientated. “Of course,” he murmurs, lowering his arm, and he hastens to think of a better strategy. He tries to remember what he wished someone would’ve told him when he on the floor, tearing at his face with untrimmed nails, fully under the delusion that a hornet’s nest thrived over and under his flesh.

His skin crawls. _Don’t think about that; Adam needs you._

He moves in as close as he can get without brushing Adam, quiet and slow. He leans his cheek on the cool brick of the wall but the best glimpse he can get of Adam’s face is his parted, gasping, mumbling lips. He so desperately wants to reach over and pull Adam into an embrace made of iron and willpower, but Adam can’t be reached that way; he needs words. He needs something other than an ambiguous touch.

His mouth rasps, “Adam?” when he opens it. Adam reacts like it’s not even close to his name. “Adam, you… you don’t have to be afraid. Do you know where you are? You’re in Monmouth. You’re with Ronan and me. Gansey,” he adds, because for a heart-stopping moment he fears that, in this state, Adam doesn’t remember him. He doesn’t remember escape; only the certain uncertainty of pain, of loneliness, of worthlessness. From behind, Gansey hears Ronan whine out a cuss.

Before his mind unravels, before he can come apart at the seams and think, _I can’t do this,_ he tells himself: _Keep it together, Richard Gansey. Keep it together._

He catches the word _dad_ in amongst the untempered stream, and Gansey’s shot with a fresh pang of agony. His throat feels raw, but he forces himself to talk. “Robert Parrish isn’t here, Adam. You don’t live under his roof anymore; you’re not under his control anymore. He can’t hurt you. _No_ one can hurt you, because Ronan and I are here, and Ronan and I will not let any harm befall you.”

It feels like a lie. Gansey knows he can’t always protect Adam, otherwise this would never have happened. He can’t save Adam from himself; he can only be there when it’s over.

“Adam.” His voice cracks, but he ignores it. He hurts, deep in his core, but he presses on. “We love you so much.” His eyes abruptly fill with tears and he regrets having said it. His swipes a hand over them irritably; they’re the least of his worries. “I know it’s hard. But we’re here for you; we’re not giving up on you. There might be setbacks, but you’ve come so far. I want you to know that. I want you to remember how far you’ve come.”

He doesn’t know what else he can say. He throws an anxious look at Ronan over his shoulder and Ronan stares back, just as hopelessly lost as he is.

They both jolt as Adam draws in a strained, ragged breath. It could mean something, it could mean nothing, but Gansey dearly hopes it’s the former. At least he’s stopped murmuring, but he’s instead switched to a just as equally unpleasant noise: hard and uneven gasps.

“Tell him to breathe properly,” Ronan hisses, just as Gansey says, “Breathe, Adam.”

Adam makes attempts to breathe like he’s doing it for the first time, like he’s just held his breath underwater, like he’s been scrying and his soul has only just managed to recover his body and save it from shutting down. He sucks them in, shuddered and swallow and choppy with sobs, and he lets them out too quick; he’s drowning without direction, almost choking, and Gansey doesn’t want to touch him just yet but he fears Adam doesn’t have enough air, tucked away in that corner.

“Adam, take a deep breath and hold it. Do as I do, alright?” His heart leaps as he thinks he catches the barest hint of a nod, and he inflates his chest. Adam poorly imitates him and all Gansey can think is _he’s coming back._ “That’s it, and hold it. 1. 2. 3. And release.” He exhales slowly, out his mouth, and Adam poorly imitates that too. He repeats it, and repeats it, for as long as Adam needs him to, until Adam’s shoulders are no longer locked and quivering, until the only sounds he makes are humiliated sniffs.

Gansey wonders if it’s safe. Gentle, and prepared to move away if necessary, he puts a hand on Adam’s back. When Adam doesn’t react like it’s the worst pain in the world, Ronan scoots forward; he clumsily wraps his arms around Adam’s shoulders and presses his cheek into the back of his head. Gansey feels a bittersweet sort of warmth flow through him as he watches Adam raise his hands to clasp Ronan back.

“You’re okay,” Gansey murmurs as he rubs Adam’s cold upper arm, comforting.

It’s another minute before Adam can finally speak. His voice is gravely with tears. “Thanks for… Sorry.”

“Never say that word again,” Ronan growls.

**Author's Note:**

> here's my [tumblr](http://telekinesiskid.tumblr.com/) if anyone feels like shouting at me lmao


End file.
